Milly Darrell and Other Tales | Page 9

was as well to let Julian make the
announcement.'
'You ought to have trusted me better, papa,' Milly said tenderly; and I
knew what perfect self-abnegation there was in the happy smile with
which she gave him her hand.
'And you are not angry with me, my darling?' he asked.
'Angry with you, papa? as if I had any right to be angry with you! Only
try to love me a little, as you used to do, and I shall be quite happy.'
'I shall never love you less, my dear.'
The journey was not a long one; and the country through which we
passed was very fair to look upon in the bright June afternoon. The
landscape changed when we were within about thirty miles of our
destination: the fertile farmlands and waving fields of green corn gave
place to an open moor, and I felt from far off the fresh breath of the
ocean. This broad undulating moorland was new to me, and I thought
there was a wild kind of beauty in its loneliness. As for Milly, she
looked out at the moor with rapture, and strained her eyes to catch the
first glimpse of the hills about Thornleigh--those hills of which she had
talked to me so often in her little room at school.
The station we had to stop at was ten miles from Mr. Darrell's house,
and a barouche-and-pair was waiting for us in the sunny road outside.
We drove along a road that crossed the moor, until we came to a little
village of scattered houses, with a fine old church--at one end of which
an ancient sacristy seemed mouldering slowly to decay. We drove past
the gates of two or three rather important houses, lying half-hidden in
their gardens, and then turned sharply off into a road that went up a hill,
nearly at the top of which we came to a pair of noble old carved iron
gates, surmounted with a coat-of-arms, and supported on each side by
massive stone pillars, about which the ivy twined lovingly.

An old man came out of a pretty rustic-looking lodge and opened
theses gates, and we drove through an avenue of some extent, which
led straight to the front of the house, the aspect of which delighted me.
It was very old and massively built, and had quite a baronial look, I
thought. There was a wide stone terrace with ponderous moss-grown
stone balustrades round three sides of it, and at each angle a broad
flight of steps leading down to a second terrace, with sloping green
banks that melted into the turf of the lawn. The house stood on the
summit of a hill, and from one side commanded a noble view of the
sea.
A lady came out of the curious old stone porch as the carriage drove up,
and stood at the top of the terrace steps waiting for us. I guessed
immediately that this must be Mrs. Darrell.
Milly hung back a little shyly, as her father led her up the steps with her
hand through his arm. She was very pale, and I could see that she was
trembling. Mrs. Darrell came forward to her quickly, and kissed her.
'My darling Emily,' she cried, 'I am so delighted to see you at last.--O
William, you did not deceive me when you promised me a beautiful
daughter.'
Milly blushed, and smiled at this compliment, but still clung to her
father, with shy downcast eyes.
I had time to look at Mrs. Darrell while this introduction was being
made. She was not by any means a beautiful woman, but she was what
I suppose would have been called eminently interesting. She was tall
and slim, very graceful-looking, with a beautiful throat and a well-
shaped head. Her features, with the exception of her eyes, were in no
way remarkable; but those were sufficiently striking to give character
to a face that might otherwise have been insipid. They were large
luminous gray eyes, with black lashes, and rather strongly-marked
brows of a much darker brown than her hair. That was of a nondescript
shade, neither auburn nor chestnut, and with little light or colour in its
soft silky masses; but it seemed to harmonise very well with her pale
complexion. Lavater has warned us to distrust any one whose hair and

eyebrows are of a different colour. I remembered this as I looked at
Mrs. Darrell.
She was dressed in white; and I fancied the transparent muslin, with no
other ornament than a lilac ribbon at the waist, was peculiarly
becoming to her slender figure and delicate face. Her husband seemed
to think so too, for he looked at her with a fond admiring glance as he
offered her his arm to return to